The Wedding Next Door

The late afternoon sun washed Tokyo in a gold lavender haze as Ares drove through the long private road leading toward his mansion. The sleek black car hummed beneath him, a low steady vibration threading through his hands on the wheel. He hadn’t slept. He hadn’t eaten. His thoughts had been looping since dawn like a storm refusing to settle.

Lady Bianca had been discharged earlier that morning — wheelchair, strict rest, reduced speech ability. Julian had called him ...